In Honour Of
by 00Leaf
Summary: Rated T for violence. These are just one-shots on a few deaths I've wanted to write for a while. All characters belong to Uncle Rick.
1. Charles Beckendorf

Most people called him Beckendorf, and he was the greatest armoursmith the camp had seen in years.

* * *

Calm winds and blues skies, blue like Silena's eyes. Thinking about her hurts. Even though they've gone over the plan hundreds of times, he doesn't know if he'll see her again.

He can't tell Jackson that, but he thinks he knows anyway. His pegasus lands, all black feathers and soft whinnies, only to take off again.

* * *

Down two flights of stairs, cut the bolt, slip inside. They tape jars of Greek Fire to the consoles. He hates this part of the plan because it gives him too much time to think. To worry.

He's jinxed it. Footsteps on metal stairs, growls and mutters of impatience...

The boy locks eyes with him- _how much time?_ Not enough. Not even if they managed to close the doors, which they couldn't.

He opens his mouth to offer to distract them-

and Jackson volunteers instead. He wants to argue- the boy's two years younger, less experienced, but he can't make this trap work the way Beckendorf can. So he nods, feeling queasy, and wishes him luck.

* * *

Back to work. Three more jars on the controls, wires..red goes to red, or is it blue? His hands are slick with sweat- gods, it's humid. Even so far down he can hear the monsters, baying and roaring and slashing and fighting. He hopes they're not winning.

Wires, he thinks, he's got to concentrate on the wires. How much time has passed? He can't tell. Blue wires remind him of blue eyes in a pretty face..

Focus.

The wires spark and hiss, and he knows he's done well. Better, even. Still, he double-checks the glowing explosives, then triple-checks them. He peeks at the wires-

Snarls above him, not as many as before, but it's his cue to leave. He's halfway up the stairs when he remembers his bag; it's empty, they'll know something's up; so he goes back down, crams cans of peaches into its pockets by the handful until it's full to bursting.

Back up the stairs. They're so close he can see their shadows on the walls of the stairwell.

A fraction of a second before they come into view, he turns so that he's facing the engine room, pretending to be hurrying down the stairs. Something shouts; fingers half the length of his arm dig into his shoulders, yanking him back so powerfully he nearly falls the rest of the way down. Giants half-drag, half-shove him up the stairs, and when he gets to the top, a boy is there, sneering in all his dark-haired, one-eyed glory. "Nice try," he drawls.

Instead of answering, he throws himself to the side, and the giant on his left grunts and staggers back- surprise, mostly, not pain, but it's enough, and he rips himself free, down the stairs..

Hands snatch him back, and he's kicking and roaring and he's sure that someone will hear him, that Jackson'll appear at any moment..

Shouting and flying fists- he doesn't have his sword- he can't hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears, but that's alright-

An explosion on the left side of his face, he's been hit, where's his armour-

His vision is blurred-

The giant from before yanks his arms back so quickly he groans, shudders, and then they're dragging him again. His head pounds. His backpack, he still has it, they hadn't checked it.

Black hair, blue eyes...

More stairs...

A smell like rotting flesh and snake skin and sweat- monsters, lots of them- there's Jackson, sword in his left hand, isn't he right handed? He sees me, finally, and those sea-green eyes widen. "No!"

Beckendorf glances at his wrist. They've fallen for it, the bombs are still there, all he has to do is press the button..a brush of his fingers, really..

The boy with eyes like molten gold barks something- they're arguing, _his bag is still full of explosives-_

 _Open his bag-_

They do, and he ignores the crowd recoiling as twelve-ish cans of peaches roll out onto the deck. Golden-eyes- Kronos- is breathing hard, snarling a question, and the one-eyed boy blanches and sprints towards the stairs.

Let them disarm the explosives? Blow up everyone on the ship- except Jackson, he'll get away, he has to- death by monsters?

He knows which one he prefers even as he forms a zero with his thumb and forefinger and mouths _go._ Jackson is shaking his head, but he'll do what has to be done. When it comes down to it, the show must go on.

A snake-woman hisses.

It will be quick, he reminds himself. And the son of the sea will be safe.

He presses the button.

He doesn't know why he curls up- it's instinctive, maybe. It doesn't matter. Heat roars through him all at once, and for just a moment, as green and then white flash behind his eyelids, Charles Beckendorf feels as light as a feather.

His last thought is of a girl with soft raven hair and laughing blue eyes and a silvery voice-

and then of nothing at all.

* * *

 **Edit: I just realized I forgot the Author's note (my bad). These are really just lines that pop into my head at any given time and I sort of just mash them together into a story. Basically, updates will be random, because sometimes my creativity runs dry. I don't know who's reading this, but..enjoy?**


	2. Silena Beauregard

She was a child of love, and love is what killed her.

Not literally, of course. What ended her life was much more tangible. The venom that ate at her skin was not quick or painless. But then, what had she expected?

She had not meant to kill Charles Beckendorf. No, no, that wasn't part of the plan. She'd been promised..

But that promise had been broken, and so had her heart.

* * *

She is sitting on a beach, hand in hand with the boy whose dark eyes never failed to melt her heart. Fireworks spin among the stars high above them, painting the night sky red and orange and white. This is perfect. _He_ is perfect, she thinks, studying their entwined fingers.

* * *

When a different boy with golden hair and a silver tongue spoke to her of saving lives, of saving _his_ life, how could she not believe him?

So she lied and cheated and lied some more, until she was almost as good at it as he was. And it felt good, for a while. She was protecting the brown-eyed boy, wasn't she? He was safe.

She had been wrong.

* * *

She is pushing her way through a crowd of bright orange t-shirts, knowing that he is alive, that he'll be there waiting for her with his warm eyes and kind smile. No one will look at her. Why won't they look at her?

Left, right, left again. Where is he? He should be here. He has to be here.

The half-horse-half-man is saying something, but she doesn't want to talk. She wants to see him. She..

She wants..

 _No._

 _No, no, no._

She tastes salt, and her throat is closing, and she can't breathe-

They're not helping her, they're silent, staring, why aren't they helping-

And then there's an arm around her shoulders, and she's giddy, it's him, but it feels wrong. No, this isn't him. This is the girl with brown hair and red armour and a gruff voice, but her voice is kind now, sort of like his, and she's leading her away. Something about chocolate. But there's something opening in her chest, something big and dark and ugly, and she knows that it'll take more than chocolate to close it.

Maybe she doesn't want it to.

* * *

She'd wanted to save lives, but not like this. Not like this, a villain. She'd lost Charlie, and now, without the daughter of Ares, she might lose everyone else.

She will not let that happen.

No one looks twice at the girl in blood-red armour with a spear that hisses and dances with electricity. The girl with blue eyes instead of brown. And that's the way she wants it, isn't it? A last trick for the son of Hermes.

* * *

Six chariots descend on the drakon, each driven by a team of fire-maned skeletons. She is leading the charge. Five chariots...four..

Javelins whistle past, winking bronze in the sunlight. The beast screams. She smells dry scales and venom and sees ivory fangs, jagged bits of metal..

Hears screams of rage and terror and the bellows of monsters, she doesn't know which ones..

"Ares, to me! _"_ And they charge, rolling and ducking and leaping and stabbing, and there's no time to mourn the boy who's gulped down in a single bite, without a whisper or a scream, or the one who wails, staggering back as acid eats away at his armour.

She is afraid, but Clarisse wouldn't be, so she leaps, and the thing turns its head towards her but it's too late to dodge, she freezes-

Her face, her arms, her legs, they _burn,_ this is the worst she's ever felt, make it stop-

A boy, shouting curses; the _snap_ of big teeth and hands scraping against her face, against the yellow poison and it _burns-_

 _"NO!"_ A new voice, choked with tears, or maybe it just sounds that way to her. No, she knows that voice. Not gruff or kind but thick with anger and _rage_ and grief, and this is her friend, she wants to comfort her, but she can't speak. She can barely breathe.

The monster- it's still alive, she realizes- roars, and her friend roars back, and the next few moments are a confused cacophony of muted crashes and thuds. _Boom-_ something hits the ground, something large enough to send vibrations shuddering through her. It hurts. She smells smoke.

Through blurry vision she can make out faces- a few campers, the girl whose armour she'd stolen, another with golden hair- this isn't Luke, it's someone else, her eyes are silver- and the boy from before. The one with ocean-eyes. The first girl is trembling as if she was the one that had been hit. _What were you thinking?_

She tries to speak and suddenly she can, only it hurts almost as badly as the burns. She does anyway. She tells them that she had no choice.

They don't believe her, she can tell. They don't understand. It's her fault. The big snake-beast, the boy with brown eyes and rough hands now gone forever, she caused this. The charm, where's the charm..she fumbles with it, her fingers are aching and much too hot, but they see it, and she sees the look in their eyes. The betrayal.

She wants them to forgive her, please, she didn't mean to, it wasn't supposed to happen, and the brown-haired girl whispers that she doesn't want her to die but the pain is fading and it's getting easier to breathe but she knows that's because soon she won't be breathing at all. And as everything fades to spots of grays and blacks...

..Silena Beauregard thinks of love. She thinks of her father, smelling of pastries and sugar, showing her how to frost a cake just right...

...and of a boy with a rumbling laugh and the brownest eyes she's ever seen, with his gentle hands and confident smile, and knows he will be waiting for her.

She does not breathe again.

* * *

 **Another edited author's note. Thanks to** **ILovePercyJ-SPN23** **for the first review! Honestly I kind of geeked out over it.**


	3. Ethan Nakamura

He is falling.

He is falling and screaming and thinking and praying, gods, catch me, save me, but the gods do not answer. They never do.

Time does not slow now; it blurs until he's too scared to be afraid. Wind tears at his clothes, his skin, his eye. And the Celestial Bronze lodged in his side..it burns. Burns worse than the Titan Lord's glare.

Why had he done it? He'd known about the curse, and yet..

And yet, he'd tried to play hero. Tried and failed.

He wonders if the teal-eyed boy will honor his last words, because strangely, he doesn't hate him anymore- not as much, anyway. The fear leaves no room for it.

Mostly he wants to blame the satyr. The music- it promised endless blue skies and rolling hills and warm, bright sunlight, and it was painful and beautiful all at once, and that was why he'd tried.

* * *

He'd wanted to be respected, but not like this. Not like this, a martyr. His eye had been taken for this cause, and now he'd lose his life.

You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain, and he was about to do both- the goddess of revenge had not broken her promise.

He'd known the price would be steep- had suspected that one day, he'd pay with his life- but this was not how he'd imagined it at all.

A blaze of glory was a blaze of glory, he supposed. And gods knew that this qualified- it had to. He had not gone down screaming for nothing. That sweet, floating music had not given him hope for _nothing_ , because that would be too cruel, even for him.

His mother would get her recognition. All the minor gods would.

* * *

The world twirls past, a mash of blue and brown and gray in the one eye he has left. He laughs as he falls, as blood bubbles over his lips and flows up his side, trailing behind him in scarlet ribbons. He does not care if there is no one to hear but the wind and the sky and the clouds.

Ethan Nakamura is dead long before he hits the ground.

* * *

 **Do you ever read your own stuff or is that just me? Sometimes I'll go back and be like, wow, good job, me. That was a beautifully written line. Anyway I'm experimenting with different writing styles, 'cause in the past I've done first person present, first person past tense, etc. I tend to get my tenses mixed up so if you see that here please let me know so I can fix it.**


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